


Case 75: The Adventure Of The Hazardous Dukes (1888)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [98]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural, The Dukes of Hazzard (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, American Civil War, Assassins & Hitmen, Destiel - Freeform, Espionage, Inheritance, Johnlock - Freeform, Lawyers, London, M/M, Minor Character Death, Politics, Prostitution, Sleeping Together, United States, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 07:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16827703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Sadly some people are wont to learn some of life's lessons the hard way, although when those suffering are the likes of Mr. Bacchus Holmes then perhaps not THAT sadly. Sherlock gets hold of the right end of the stick and ensures a happy ending for two good ole boys.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelodyofWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyofWings/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

It was good to be back in London Town and especially good to be in 221B where I awoke every morning to the man I loved beside me, a man I loved even when he remarked that I was perhaps not quite at my best first thing in the morning. And more importantly, one who I knew would give me (at least) half his bacon at breakfast yet who still looked at me as if he could not quite believe that we were together. I loved him so much that some days I almost felt inclined to let him keep all that delicious bac.....

No.

The only small downside was that I felt somewhat guilty when I worked my way through the many letters that had come during our 'Grand Tour', even though that trip had been necessitated by the actions of the foul Mrs. Fforbes-Black who as I have mentioned had quitted the country. Apparently some prayers were answered for she and that blackguard of a lawyer Mr. Tucker had subsequently been kidnapped by people who had taken them all the way to the Russian Steppes and then, incredulously, both disgraces to humanity had been killed when their house had been hit by a huge aerolite! And some people said that prayers were never answered!

I had of course been pleased to help out my old friend Inias Atkinson even if it did involve some small element of criminality on my part, but I still fretted over all those people I could have helped but had not been there for. Watson still had some time off before he would have to resume his work at the surgery and he had resolved to spend as much of it as possible writing. I had hoped to enjoy some time alone with him as a result but alas, it was not to be. For on the very day after our return from St. John's Wood a most curious case was brought to my attention.

֍

We had a small happy event in those dark months when we caught up with an old friend. The reader may remember Constable Valiant Henriksen, nephew to our friend Victor (as as a certain cruel person called him, The Great Cake-Detector Of Old London Town). We had already renewed our friendship with the burly policeman who of course came round on the very first of Mrs. Harvelle's baking days..... hmm, maybe John had a point?).

During our absence Henriksen's superior Inspector Macdonald had alerted him to a vacancy for sergeant in his old constabulary up in Cumberland and Westmorland. Valiant Henriksen had duly applied for and obtained the post which was based in the town of Kirkby Stephen, where we would as it happened meet him in the not too distant future. And the new sergeant's wife Jane whom he had married the previous summer not long after the Reigate case had just provided him with his first son Valdus – and his second son Vulcan. John and I were honoured when Henriksen (the second baking day after our return) asked us if we might each become godparents to one of the twins. John may have shed a tear at that, but it goes without saying that it was a manly tear.

I am getting a suspicious look for some reason.

֍

It was another cold winter's morn when we had a welcome visitor to Baker Street, my half-brother Mr. Campbell Kerr. It was the first time I had seen him since our return and one look from him made clear to me that the huge window out onto the street was not the only thing in the room that was completely transparent. He smiled at the evident change in our relationship but said nothing, for which I was intensely grateful. Although he really could have toned down that smirk a notch or ten.

“I have a rather curious matter that has arisen with two of my boys”, he said gravely. “Alan and I have reason to suspect that they are being cheated out of an inheritance and we would be grateful if you could investigate.”

“Of course”, I said. “Who is it pray?”

“The Duke boys, Bo and Luke.”

I knew those two young Southern gentlemen who had arrived in England some two years back, curiously just days after we had had our own Southern adventure with Mr. Robert Lee. I had kept a watchful eye on the latter and knew he had passed last year without suffering any further problems from either the British or American governments. It was sad that I had had to do that but my own experience of large institutions had made it necessary. Beauregard and Lucas Duke were cousins although they looked nothing like each other, but both were generous and good-hearted fellows; Watson had treated Beauregard one time. Like the Selkirk twins Balin and Balan they did not like being apart from each other.

“The Dukes of Hazard”, my friend said. 

I looked at him curiously.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

He flushed bright red. My half-brother sniggered.

“They have this old Southern wheel of fortune thing in their room and they always work together”, Campbell explained. “Except instead of numbers it has what might best be termed different options for.....”

I gave him such a look!

“No details!” I said firmly. _”Or no investigation!”_

He had the bad grace to snigger again but wisely kept silent. Honestly, even the relatives that I liked were terrible at times!

“So what is the problem with the boys?” John asked.

“Mr. Lee whom you assisted in a case last year was as I am sure you remember often in poor health”, Campbell said. “He came to London looking for someone from his homeland to take his body back home when the time came and to make sure that it was buried in his native Virginia. He did not of course use our services but he chanced to meet Luke when he was at a restaurant one time, and I presume he thought that as one of his own he could be trusted. He died early last December and had made all the arrangements for the boys to lay him to rest in his home town, a small place called McClure on the far side of the state. He paid them double what they would normally make for two months and on top of all their expenses, which was very generous of him.”

“And they did not receive his payment?” I asked.

“He paid in advance”, Campbell said, “thankfully as it turned out. No, the problem came when they got back a couple of weeks ago. Mr. Lee had said that he had also left the boys something in his will but his lawyer, a nasty piece of work called Mr. Elwood Grey, told them that someone was contesting the will and nothing could be done until that was all sorted...”

He stopped, noting my sudden change of expression.

“You know this fellow?” he asked.

“I heartily wish that I did not”, I said. “He is the legal representative for the American Embassy here in London and as such has diplomatic immunity. He has been involved in several rather questionable acts but the authorities cannot touch the fellow without starting an international incident.”

“I could always arrange for some of the boys to 'bump into him' in a dark alley?” my half-brother grinned.

I was sorely tempted, but no. At least not yet. And John could really stop nodding enthusiastically like that; the bastard kept asking me if the assassin Mrs. Kyndley was still offering that discount on Bacchus' 'direct removal'! As if I would ever..... well, not just now.

“Did he provide any details of who is challenging the will?” I asked, dragging my mind away from some happy thoughts.

“One of Mr. Lee's great-nieces”, Campbell said. “A woman called Mrs. Clintwood. She is claiming that he was not of sound mind when he disinherited her and the other relatives, although from what little Bo and Luke had told me about them the only thing that surprised me is that he did not shoot the lot of them before leaving America; four thousand miles was probably the bare minimum distance where they were concerned! And she has a supporter in one of the late Mr. Lee's neighbours, one Mr. Hogg, who has been keeping a diary of his 'odd behaviour'.”

The unpleasant personage opposite who had been so grievously offended by the sight of another state's flag, I remembered. And whom the assassin Mrs. Kyndley had also offered to 'directly remove'. Again I was sorely tempted but... we would see.

“What did the late Mr. Lee's estate consist of, do we know?” I asked.

“The house of course, and the boys both thought he was rolling in it”, Campbell said. “But the lawyer said that nothing can be finalized until this challenge is dealt with, one way or another.”

I thought back to Mr. Lee. He had been a clever fellow and I did not doubt that he must have foreseen something like this happening. He could easily have employed his own lawyer rather than relying on the sub-human excrescence that was Mr. Elwood Grey, whose infamy he must surely have been aware of. Something did not make sense here.

“I will need to borrow Beauregard and Lucas for the day”, I said. “I will pay a full day's rates of course, although as is it for their Southern friend I am sure they would do it for nothing if asked. They are both good boys.”

I could feel John tense across the room and smiled to myself. Beauregard and Lucas were not 'together together' (in my mother's terrible turn of phrase) and just enjoyed working with each other and Beauregard in particular was a handsome muscular fellow, so it was very fortunate that my friend was not the sort of person who ever got jealous in any way, shape or form.

John was grinding his teeth for some reason. Interesting.

֍

John was still very clearly not jealous when the cousins met us at Victoria Station the following day. I had very fairly told Campbell to warn them that there would be an element of criminality in our day out but that had apparently not deterred them. Out of the 'Southern' clothing that they wore around the molly-house they both looked like ordinary Victorian gentlemen although Lucas' innate seriousness and Beauregard's more bubbly personality both shone through the veneers of respectability.

“What might we be looking for, sir?” Beauregard asked looking at me intently. Both were handsome men in their late twenties but he was blond while his cousin was dark. I could sense John's quiet annoyance at what he clearly perceived as a rival for my affections but I did not smirk. 

I did not smirk _much._

“I have a feeling that your friend Mr. Lee may have concealed something of import in his house”, I said. “Most likely a document of some sort.”

“Wouldn't it be locked, sir?” Lucas asked. Neither fellow had much of a Southern accent in their normal conversation but I knew because Beauregard had demonstrated it that time John had treated him that they could 'turn it on' when they wanted.

“Locked doors do not keep out a Sherlock!” John snorted. 

We purchased four tickets to Smitham and boarded our train, waiting for its departure.

“Were there any problems with fulfilling Mr. Lee's last requests?” I asked.

“No sir, he'd arranged everything”, Lucas said. “It was difficult to get to the place right up in the hills the far side of the state but it was a beautiful area; nearest town was nigh on thirty miles away. He'd paid for our tickets and transport, the plot and all.”

“He asked to be fitted out in his old military uniform”, Beauregard said. “As you can guess that had to be done once we were there what with the way things are now but folks around McClure were very understanding.”

I thought that rather odd. Despite the late Mr. Lee sharing his name with the Confederacy's greatest general, I knew that he had had no military background of his own.

“Don't forget the stick”, Lucas said.

John and I both looked at him in confusion.

“What 'stick'?” I asked.

“He had some sort of military stick”, Beauregard said. “A baton, he called it. He'd set aside some money for Cooter – Mr. Davenport who lives near the churchyard – to tend his grave and to break the baton in half on the first anniversary of the surrender to happen after his death.”

I smiled at that. I was beginning to see how this whole thing had been done. I had been right not to underestimate Mr. Lee.

“What is he like, this Mr. Davenport?” I asked.

“He was an old servant when Mr. Lee had had the big house in the area”, Lucas said. “Rough guy but good-hearted; he'll keep the grave for the old guy.”

“No good deed goes unrewarded”, I smiled. “Let us hope that we can find something in Mr. Lee's house that will ensure your friend's last wishes are honoured.”

“Bad thing about this relative of his”, Lucas sighed.

“You mean the imaginary relative?” I asked.

All three looked at me in shock.

“How can you know that?” John demanded.

“I looked at a map of Virginia to see where McClure is”, I said. “Some little distance north of the place is a town called Clintwood, which seemed rather too much of a coincidence. My friend Miss Bradbury did some research for me and confirmed that the relative is indeed an invention, and that the unpleasant Mr. Elwood Grey is playing a devious game to disinherit you boys. That was why he agreed to take the matter on for no fee; he thought he could disinherit you and then strip the estate once you had given up.”

“We should challenge him!” John said hotly.

“I would prefer to be on more solid ground before we risk that”, I said. “Remember, we are dealing with someone who at the end of the day can always hide behind the skirt of diplomatic immunity. Although he might do well to remember that those skirts cannot protect him from _every_ danger.”

Especially an unexpected encounter in a dark alley with some of my half-brother's 'boys', I thought. Because one never knew what might happen next Thursday evening at half-past eight.

֍


	2. Chapter 2

After a short journey we arrived at Smitham Railway Station where we were met by a gaudily-dressed couple with whom I had a few words. Once they had left for the train back to London, John asked me who they were.

“The agents I sent down to deal with the people spying on Mr. Lee's house”, I said calmly.

They all looked at me in shock. Again.

“Spying?” Beauregard said. “Why?”

“Because the British and American governments have not got to their current powerful positions on the world stage by taking chances”, I said turning to John. “Remember the unpleasant Mr. Hogg who was so offended by a piece of coloured cloth that he complained all the way up to Bacchus?”

“Some people!” Lucas snorted.

“I reckoned that given what was likely afoot here, there would be one or possibly two people based in that personage's house observing 'Dixie House' around the clock”, I said. “I did warn Bacchus to not attempt any further actions against Mr. Lee, but clearly he decided that once the fellow was dead that prohibition did not extend to the settling of his estate.”

John's eyes lit up.

“Ishegoingtogethurt?” he asked maybe a shade too eagerly. Both the young gentlemen chuckled at his reaction.

“In one way”, I said, enjoying his pout when he realized that he was not going to be illuminated. “Come. Mr. and Mrs. Foliot have drugged the watchers and deposited them _sans_ clothing some distance away, but we only have today before all hell breaks loose. We have to find that document!”

“What document, sir?” Lucas asked as we approached the house.

“Most likely a will, perhaps some medical document or even a combination of the two”, I said. “And I think that he would have left it where someone of his own ancestry would be more inclined to look for it which is where you two gentlemen will be at an advantage. Let us begin.

֍

I broke into 'Dixie House' easily enough and we split up to cover as much space as quickly as possible. The place was larger than I remembered and I could see one reason why the rascally lawyer was trying to swindle Campbell's boys out of a share of it. How much of a share I neither knew nor cared; justice was the important thing here.

After less than half an hour Beauregard came to me and said that he had found something. On the writing-desk were two envelopes, one addressed to each cousin. He had not touched them and I held him back from so doing. John and Lucas had joined us and I used my handkerchief to do a quick check. Sure enough I was right.

“Glue”, I said. “Someone has opened these letters and examined the contents, then closed them again. They had to use glue to reseal them.”

Since the letters were obviously addressed to the two gentlemen with us I felt nothing wrong in their opening them. Inside each was a single sheet of paper, near-identical notes thanking each of them for helping fulfil Mr. Lee's last requests. They were spectacularly unremarkable except for the perhaps curious fact that they had not been sent.

“This is weird”, Lucas said looking at his cousin's letter. “He mentions General Sherman in my letter and in Bo's.”

“What is odd about that?” John asked.

“Sherman was a Union man”, Beauregard said. “That makes no sense.”

Perhaps it did, I thought.

“Are there any statues or pictures of that general around here?” I asked. 

The boys both looked at me incredulously. Then John surprised us all by chuckling.

“I bet there is at least one!” he said.

“In 'Dixie House'? Lucas asked incredulously. “Never!”

John shook his head and walked over to the battlefield display where he pointed to one of the small figures. 

“General Sherman!” he announced and picked it up.

There was a hole in the table display directly underneath the figure, and since I had the longest fingers of us all I reached into it. I extracted two sheets of rolled-up paper, read them quickly and smiled.

“Jackpot!” I beamed.

֍

A few days later we went to the American Embassy to meet Mr. Elwood Grey. I have a generally low opinion of the legal profession – I suppose that we need them in much the same way as we need journalists and sewage workers – but he was the sort of person who made me wish to go go home and take a long bath afterwards to wash off his foul aura (which I did). And I was not surprised with the first two pieces of news that he greeted us with.

“I am afraid that as regards the estate of the late Mr. Robert Lee, the cupboard is almost bare”, he said dryly. “The house is all there is; he appears to have transferred his moneys into some other form and presumably dispersed it elsewhere.”

“I know”, I said.

That seemed to disconcert him slightly but he continued.

“As the sole gentleman in charge of administering the estate I have decided not to fight Mrs. Clintwood's contention that the will is invalid”, he said. “We will therefore be reverting to the natural laws of succession by which she and her kin will receive their rightful shares.”

“I am afraid that you will not”, I said firmly.

His face registered confusion that the world was for some reason not the way that he wished it to be. It was doubtless a novel experience for him.

“What do you mean, sir, 'I will not'?” he demanded.

I produced two sheets of paper.

“The first of these documents is a will dated _subsequent_ to the one in your possession”, I said. “Regardless of your decision it is therefore the rightful last will and testament of the late Mr. Robert Lee. And the second document is a signed statement by three of Harley Street's finest doctors stating that Mr. Lee is of sound mind. Both are certified copies of the originals which I have safely locked away, so do not trouble yourself in an attempt to destroy them.”

I stared pointedly at the lawyer. He twitched nervously.

“I do not see your point, sir”, he said. “Mrs. Clintwood can still contest this will if she so wishes.”

“As she does not exist, I might reasonably conjecture that she would find that rather difficult”, I said, enjoying the look of shock on the fellow's face as he saw his schemes unravelling. “But you could always ask Mr. John Carter for his opinion.”

The rat was good but he was still reeling from the shock of the day's events. He visibly had to pull himself together.

“I am not sure who you mean, sir”, he said haughtily.

“The American government minister who came over here and had a top-level meeting with his British counterpart shortly before Mr. Lee's death”, I said helpfully. “My brother Bacchus was at the meeting.”

John looked at me in shock.

“I _knew_ that smarmy son of a bitch could not be trusted!” Mr. Grey snarled. 

I smiled and produced a second set of papers.

“What are these?” the lawyer demanded.

“Papers for the sale of the property known as 'Dixie House', I said. “I used my small influence to ensure that the Duke cousins, who under this will are the rightful owners, needed to but sign these papers along with any prospective purchaser. And that new owner can then tear the place apart to find where the late Mr. Lee hid the rest of his money. There are major criminals” - I looked disdainfully at the lawyer and amended - _”other_ major criminals who would jump at the chance....”

“Where do I sign?” he snarled.

֍

We went to the bank with Mr. Elwood and I ensured that the correct funds from the sale had been transferred into the accounts of the Duke boys before handing him the deeds to the house. They were both now very rich young men indeed, just as Mr. Lee had wished.

“I cannot believe that Bacchus betrayed the government to tell you about this”, John said once the smarmy lawyer had left us with his prize. 

“He did not.”

He looked at me in shock.

“But you said.....”

“I merely said that he was at the meeting, which Miss Bradbury has assured me that he was”, I said. “I did not say that he actually _told_ me anything. I cannot be held account for any consequences of people jumping to the wrong conclusions, can I?”

He chuckled at my obviously false innocence.

“I do not suppose that your half-brother.....” he began.

“Mr. Grey is being watched from this moment on”, I said. “He always walks back to the embassy from his club every Thursday evening, and on his next such walk several of Campbell's boys will make it clear that London disapproves of his somewhat.”

He smiled at that.

“It is just a pity that the American government will still get some of Mr. Lee's estate”, he said.

“They will not get a penny of it”, I said confidently.

“How can you know that?” he demanded.

“Because apart from the house, the rest of it is already in America”, I said. “McClure, Virginia, to be exact.”

He just looked adorably confused. I chuckled.

“I had Miss Bradbury do a double-check, but despite his name Mr. Robert Lee never served in the military”, I said. “It was all a ruse. When Mr. Davenport breaks open his military baton later this year he is going to be in for something of a surprise when a whole slew of diamonds and other precious stones fall out.”

_”What?_

“Miss Bradbury managed to discover just how he got his wealth away from the grasp of the American government”, I explained. “The military story was merely cover to explain the broken baton, which of course would not be mentioned because the military uniform could not be put on him until he was back home.”

“I hope that he is home now”, John sighed.

֍

Doubtless he was, and soon he was not the only one. With the generous amount that the American government paid the Duke boys they were able to return to their homeland in the South and buy a fair-sized house where they lived out the rest of their days in comfort and ease. Unlike both an unpleasant lawyer (who featured on the front page of the _'Times'_ newspaper when a journalist 'happened' to find him naked and chained to one of the Trafalgar Square lions) and a certain easily offended Smitham property owner (who suffered not only the annoyance of the house opposite being suddenly very busy all hours of the day and night but worse, had his own garden requisitioned and all but destroyed when by some strange coincidence the only thing to emerge of use in the former 'Dixie House' was a letter stating that something had been hidden in the grounds of the house opposite). How not unfortunate in both cases.

And poor Bacchus got a stern talking-to by his superiors about discretion which, even better, led to him going to whine to Mother who had just finished another of her dreadful stories and insisted that he stay to hear it. Sometimes life is _good!_

֍


End file.
